


One Half of the Deal

by coricomile



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Matchmaking, POV Outsider, Reincarnation, Trope Bingo Round 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 21:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6059545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kaner. Kaner, I love you bro, but if I have to watch you pine after Toes' dick for another three years, I'm going to punch you in the face."</p><p>Or: Three lives Sharpy got Jonny and Patrick together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Half of the Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Second story for the simultaneous line bingo. Matchmaker/Reincarnation squares. Also an exercise in how many different ways I could refer to Kaner as anything but Patrick.

**Camelot, Wales - 484**

The young prince hadn't left his rooms in days. His servants came and went silently, their faces drawn and their mouths firmly shut, but none of the knights had been allowed access. Patrick scowled at the locked door, willing his master to just _come out already_. 

Jonathan sat slumped against the wall, his tunic still filthy from training, sword laid out beside him. He'd tried the hardest of them all to make Prince Patrick show himself. It said something of the prince's desperation if he would not bend to Jonathan's will. 

The war was coming. There was nothing to be done about it. The war was coming, and the King was ill, and the prince might die as well before his coronation. They had all sworn to protect him in battle, to bring him home to rule his kingdom, but that was not an oath they could promise to keep. 

Jonathan had only left his post for training. He'd been harsh on the new knights, his sword hitting them heavily and his voice slicing through their hopes. It was to him that they all looked for morale, for strength, but without the prince at his side, he'd begun to wilt. 

They'd been together since they were boys, their positions almost forgotten as they pushed each other in their skills. They grew together into men that could heal the kingdom's sorrows, into soldiers that would lead them in battle. Patrick could not imagine them without one another. 

"Go to him," Patrick said, kneeling beside Jonathan. A dark eye peered up at him, exhaustion written clearly in it. His heart beat only for the prince, and anyone who had seen them together knew.

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Jonathan asked, as snappish as he'd been with the new knights. Patrick tapped him with the hilt of his own sword, eyes narrowed. Jonathan sighed and sank back into the stone of the wall. He was still so young. All of them were. Some would not see their eighteenth birthdays before they met with death. 

"No, Jon," Patrick said gently. He looked over his shoulder, checking for stray servants. When the hall remained clear, he leaned in and pressed his forehead to Jonathan's. " _Go_ to him. Give him the strength to fight. Remind him to whom he'll be returning when the war is over."

Jonathan's eyes were wide, his mouth pressed into a tight line. Patrick had met no stronger man in all his years in the kingdom, and none more stubborn. He'd trained Jonathan until the boy had been knighted. If he never produced a child, he would still be happy with the one he'd helped raise. 

"He needs to produce an heir," Jonathan said quietly. He curled his fingers around the hilt of his sword, his thumb rubbing the thin layer of worn leather. "When he becomes king, he will have other duties. Responsibilities to the kingdom. I won't do anything to hinder that."

"A loveless marriage to produce an heir isn't unheard of," Patrick said. He patted Jonathan's cheek, smiling as best he could. He wouldn't dash Jonathan's hopes, his surety, that the prince would return. "You've served him all your life, since you were but a boy yourself. No one would talk should you remain that loyal. No one would stand against you."

"I cannot-"

"Jonathan," Patrick said, shaking him, "go profess your feelings. Bring our prince from his rooms. Let him have a few moments of joy before he goes to war. Your future king needs you. Will you deny him that?"

Patrick stood, offering his hand. Jonathan took it, drawing himself up to his full height and fussing with his tunic until it laid straight over his chest. He still looked tired, still looked frightened, but his face had hardened into familiar stubborn lines. 

"Be well," Patrick said with a grin. He handed Jonathan his sword and left as soon as Jonathan pounded his closed fist against the door once again. 

War was coming, but there could be love, if only for a few days. 

 

**Chimney Rock, Nebraska - 1841**

Abby wasn't doing well. Her face had gone sallow, the brightness that Patrick had been drawn to years ago fading away slowly. She shooed him away every time he fussed at her, promising she would be fine if only he would let her be. He couldn't help worrying, though. 

Their child would be born soon, out in the wilds of unknown territory. He trusted the doctor, knew him to be a good man, but he'd heard tales of women dying in their own homes. Life without Abby- he couldn't picture it. He wouldn't.

"Eat," Jon said, steering Patrick away from his wagon and towards the fire. The night air blew cold all around them, but the fire was warm and the bodies surrounding them kept the chill away. "She'll be fine, Sharp. She'll be fine."

Patrick took the bowl of stew Kane handed him with a nod, settling down next to him. Jon sat on his other side, boxing Kane in between them. They had been with him through hardships in Missouri, long before the idea of leaving had come to any of them. 

They discussed the coming days, let themselves be excited about the hunt a handful of the men were going on in the morning. Jon had made the decision to keep them under the shadow of Chimney Rock for a few days, letting people and animals both rest. He'd led them well. If anyone could get them to Oregon, it would be Toews. 

Half way through their meal, Jon listed in toward Kane's side, his head dipping. He'd carried Duncan's child for miles, giving up his seat in his wagon for Duncan after he'd injured his leg. The exhaustion showed on his face, making him look older than he had any right to. 

"He does too much," Kane said softly, leaning back until Jon's head rested on his chest. "Won't let any of us take on the work."

Patrick watched the slow rise of Jon's head on Kane's chest, watched the small twitches of Kane's fingers against his back. They bickered and shouted and spent too much time pushing at each other when the wagons were drawn, but Kane had talked Jon down when the Greene family lost their daughter to a snake bite, had been the one to nominate Jon as their leader when they'd first begun to plan their journey. 

The two of them weren't the only single men in the group, but they were the only ones who seemed not to mind. Kane often spent time with the children to let the women rest, soft at the edges in surprising ways. He would make a good father, but he laughed every time anyone mentioned it. In the late of night, barely outside of Missouri, he'd told Patrick that he'd like it, that fatherhood was a dream he'd had since he was a boy, but that he couldn't lie with a woman. 

Patrick had taken it as the sign of trust it was intended as. Their group was made of good people, people that had become family quickly, but there would still be men that would gladly kill him if they knew. Perhaps, Patrick thought as he stole glances at gentle way Kane watched Jon, that was why he'd left. 

"You should tell him," Patrick said quietly. Kane's head jerked up. Jon made a soft sound, turning his head further into the wool of Kane's coat. Kane snorted, some of the panic leaving his face.

"And have him leave me in the middle of nowhere to fend on my own?" Kane asked. "I'll pass."

"Do you really think Jon would do that?" Patrick bumped his shoulder gently into Kane's. Across the fire, Abby smiled at him, her hand stroking the curve of her stomach. His heart ached for the love of her. "To you of all people?"

"I wouldn't risk it," Kane said. He smoothed his hand over Jon's back, shushing him like a child. "He's a good man, but that only goes so far."

"Our lives are short," Patrick said. "Our lives are short and we could die at any moment. Do you think I could live without her?" He tipped his chin toward Abby. If she passed, he might as well throw himself into a river. There would be no world without her. "Do you think I would want to?"

"That's different and you know it," Kane snapped. 

"It's really not." Patrick patted Kane's head, laughing at the affronted look Kane gave him, and set his bowl on the ground with the others. "Do what you're going to do. But I think you should tell him. He wouldn't abandon you."

Patrick joined Abby, gathering her into his arms. She laughed when he pressed a kiss to her cheek, the sound as bright as ever. He was risking everything to give her a new life, a better life. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. 

"Feel," she said, placing his hand on her stomach. The baby inside kicked at his palm. It was strong, vibrantly alive. Patrick closed his eyes and pulled Abby in tighter. On the other side of camp, Kane shook Jon awake and led him away toward the wagons. 

The journey ahead was still long, but they would not be beaten.

 

**Chicago, Illinois - 2010**

Patrick couldn't stop laughing. Champagne flowed free and the music was loud and someone was hugging him every few minutes. They'd won. They'd fucking _won_. It didn't feel real. He kept touching the Cup, his fingers sliding over the grooves of past winners' names, as if feeling it would make everything seem more concrete. His name would be there soon, carved in permanently. 

"Sharpshooter," Kaner crowed, launching into Patrick's arms. Patrick laughed and swung him around in a circle, knocking chairs to the ground. Kaner had been buried under teammates all night. His hair stuck up in truly hilarious angles from all the noogies he'd gotten. "The motherfucking _Cup_."

"The motherfucking Cup," Patrick agreed. In a few days, they'd all head off home. In a few months, they'd start the race all over again. But right then, in that moment, they were all golden. "Where's the Cap?"

Some of the brightness faded from Kaner's face. He waved over at the corner of the room, the last of his drink sloshing out onto his bare chest and the floor. Patrick pitied the housekeeper that had to clean up this mess. Jonny was on the couch with one of Duncs' cousins, smiling drunkenly at her and nodding along to whatever she was saying. Patrick sighed. 

"Kaner. Kaner, I love you bro, but if I have to watch you pine after Toes' dick for another three years, I'm going to punch you in the face." He grabbed the back of Kaner's sticky neck, digging his fingers in and steering him through the crush of bodies. 

"Hey!" Kaner twisted, but Patrick pulled his ugly mullet until he stopped fighting. 

"Yo, Tazer," Patrick called before dumping Kaner straight into his lap. The girl jumped, laughing when Kaner fell off the couch, dragging Jonny down with him. Patrick turned to her, giving her a sweet smile and offering his hand. "Duncs would kill me if I let you spend any more time with these idiots. Have you met Laddy?"

Patrick led her away from the shitshow wrestling match happening on the floor, gave Laddy a thumbs up, and went back to the table the Cup sat on. He poured himself another cup of champagne and mentally patted himself on the back. He'd gotten Laddy someone to chat up, Kaner at least a congratulatory game winning goal blowjob, and _won a fucking Cup_. 

Life was fucking _good_.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come hang out at my [tumblr](http://notyourlovesong.tumblr.com)


End file.
